Freezing
by jencenD
Summary: Nick frowned. Sure, who else would wake up during the night when he's sitting here with no pants on, unable to heal his own wounds?


Slight Nellis, pre-slash or what do you call that. Rated T for some gore and obscene language (if there was some) along the way. Not beta'd.

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><p>No one of them had ever understood what the worst in their journey was. A Tank launching a huge rock to their helicopter, an infected pilot, the fact that he needed to be shot, stopping in the middle of a swamp town or incredibly dense, non-stop rain. Now, just as all above was not enough, the cold had added itself to it.<p>

After one more crash the four survivors had to separate each other from the ground and the military, which turned into zombies on the way. There was only one way to go - north, where an evac station was promised to be again. They almost lost all their hope, but standing still was not an option. On their way they had seen safehouses, ruined by Infected; red steel doors broken down, an awful scene inside, full of gore and blood. Sometimes they were lucky enough to run into a good safehouse which even contained some food and ammunition. This was the place for the unlucky survivors to stop by and gather their remainings of sleep.

A silent road that was; zombies were being met with knives because the ammo supplies were critical. The guy in a cap was lucky to find a Japanese sword somewhere; he was slashing the bastards with wide swings. Two dark-skinned survivors looked around the houses on their way carefully; they had no luck in finding even medical supplies, and two of their medkits were already half-wasted on scratches. The last one of them - a man in a once handsome suit, now trashed all around - was covering their backs and growling. He had no particular task, but his ammunition supply was large enough to fight off a small horde, so he was an unspoken firing power. Once everyone else got a melee weapon, he went envy and found himself a frying pan in some abandoned house; he dragged it all his way long, sometimes using it on most unfortunate Infected. Getting skulls crashed by a pan seemed to be too much for their pride.

As they moved from one safehouse to another, the weather changed rapidly. The Infection hit on summertime, though time was going fast and brought the fall in moments - night raining, icy winds and heavy dark clouds all across the skies. During daytime, if the weather happened to be good, it was most easily to cope with; in the days of their biggest luck the sun would even come out, pouring faint sunlight on this perishable planet. At such moments the mechanic guy would smile the widest and look like a sun himself. The pessimistic one with dark hair pulled back would frown as always and hide his face from the light of the normal sun and the one wearing a cap as well. The further they went, the less he liked this American trip at all which drained him physically, morally and financially - he never stopped complaining about his suit.

For some reason, this day turned out to be especially unfortunate. Seems Rochelle's words about Specials not touching them were fatal. First, they had to save Coach from two Hunters at once and one of them left a huge scratch on his hand; then a Charger set them off the ground, taking Ellis away with it. At the end, before the very safehouse door, Nick got his leg grabbed by a nasty tongue-having thing; it dragged him way too long through some thorny bush, leaving deep wounds in his leg, and the survivors would've lost their grumbling gambler, if Rochelle hadn't killed the Smoker with her hunting rifle. It wasn't easy in such conditions, though. The only bad thing about a safehouse was lack of light and blankets. There was one big flashlight left, and it has been given for the night watch; also three blankets, one so small that it seemed to be a child one. As the argument about them began, Nick muttered something and went to the second floor, refusing to take part. Ellis benignly grabbed himself the small blanket, and the argument was resolved.

Although the white suit's owner escaped the blanket talk, it didn't save him from the weather at all. As the night was stopping by, the coldness increased enormously; it felt like the white frost did not cover just the skin but also the organs underneath, the bones froze to each other, the limbs refused to work anymore. Waking up next morning would be an achievement, if you ever managed to fall asleep. Perhaps this was a normal thing in Russia, but there was no zombie apocalypse in Russia so far.

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><p><em>My place is right here, I feel so left and lonely<br>__Hope line is being broken using a silent knife_

Sitting in his corner on the second floor, Nick was shivering worse, trying to gather heat from his jacket, still wet after the rain. This did not help at all. The only benefit - was it even one? - happened to be sensitivity losses, and pain in different parts of his body started to fade. Almost an hour passed before the survivor finally decided to patch his wounded leg up. Actually the scratches were not that deep and did not hurt arteries and veins, but the holster belts wrapped just around them, causing the wounds to bleed again and therefore ruining the suit even more. He didn't care about the pain, getting used to it pretty quick.

Nick took his medkit, which he used as a pillow before, unzipped the bag and fished out a small bottle of ethanol, forceps, pack of cotton and bandages, leaving all this in front of him on the floor. He had to pull out the thorns carefully; good thing that coldness blunted the pain a bit. After finishing this, Nick threw the forceps back into the red bag, looked over his wounded hip critically and began taking off his trousers; then, spreading them across the floor, he took a seat and started out treating the scratches - it included wiping them with ethanol-moistened cotton piece. Nothing really stopped him from doing so, except for ice-cold draught that made his fingers freeze still. For no avail the man kept slapping his cheeks and rubbing all the limbs hard - the weather won. He tried to grab the forceps again, but his hands did not just freeze, they stiffened, making it even harder to feel them. Sotto voce, Nick had cursed the autumn long time ago and had a slight fear of dying during one of these nights.

"Nick, ya there?"

He winced at the voice that rolled over the basement. Wooden steps creaked, and another survivor approached the second floor. A small blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the usual cap with its visor turned back. Nick frowned. Sure, who else would wake up during the night when he's sitting here with no pants on, unable to heal his own wounds?

"Go to sleep, Ellis." He did not. Instead, the mechanic made a few steps towards his comrade, stirring his shoeless feet across the wood. The other one braced himself up, trying to cover his naked legs with the white jacket.

"Yo, left on th' night watch? Told us nothin' tho", the boy said. Glancing at all the things lying at his feet, he sighed.

"Ain't feelin' cold?" - Nick's face wrinkled at this. Why on Earth would he even come here?

"I am, and that's none of your business. Get out." He opened the ethanol bottle with his unsteady fingers to show how he can handle it himself. Though his fingers had a different opinion about that; the bottle nearly ended up on floor. Nick cussed quietly and glanced at Ellis who was still standing nearby.

"Oh come on. What the hell do you need? Didn't I deserve some rest from you all?" The youngster had used to these fleers of him; at the end, that was a part of this sarcastic nature. Nick's grumbling became something like Keith stories for the group - always there, needed or not. Ellis smiled at him, and the other man looked away; he couldn't stand this little sun's shining.

"Freezin' alone with a flashlight ain't rest", he said exemplarily.

"You tell me."

"Sure thing! Keith once got me and his buddies on fishin'. He told us all th' bait got lost. Forgot to close the can, can ya believe? So we had to..." At this moment Nick sent him such a glare that the boy fell silent at once. A minute passed in silence; the only sounds were the older man's teeth chattering and the bottle tinkling. As he saw his comrade still standing there, he quit trying.

"I repeat, Ellis. What the hell did you want?"

"I, erm... wanted to check if you're a'right."

"Worry about your ass. It wasn't me who got all Chargers on the way here." The younger one seemed offended, turning red.

"Not all of them!" Nick did not answer, barely listening while trying to hold forceps with his stiffened fingers. It could be easily seen in flashlight's beam how much his hands were trembling. El shook his head, watching.

"Yer hands're tremblin'."

"Well shit, I didn't know that!" he snapped.

"No, really! You can't even heal yerself."

"So what?"

"Well, I came here to check if you're a'right, an' you ain't." Nick literally felt his teeth clenching. This big child was unbearable sometimes. Keeping silence, he wiped the scratches carefully; getting to the deepest one, his hands cramped, losing the forceps again, their owner let out a mouthful of curses about the temperature. Ellis watched him, worried, as he tried to hang out for the medkit and hissed. "Told ya 'bout hands", he wanted to say but held it back, saving Nick from another word outburst.

"You need to get warm, man. If you keep sittin' here, you won't make it to the mornin'." The conman couldn't believe his ears. Was he laughing at him?

"What do you want to do with me?" he asked wearily. Instead of answering, the mechanic guy came closer and knelt before him, holding the blanket - and the other man pulled his knees closer, just as if he was embarrassed about himself.

"Give me yer hands." Nick frowned. The last time the boy said this was back when the older man happened to be clever enough to stick his finger into a shotgun barrel; they wasted about an hour trying to get it out. But Ellis looked deviant that time, and now... Was it a dream, or there was worry somewhere in the guy's gaze?

And Nick had trusted him. For the first time, carefully, but he had trusted him. He left the attempts of doing all by himself and slowly gave both hands to Ellis. The younger one took them in his hands and brought them closer to his mouth. For a brief moment Nick thought that he was going to do something unnatural that they both will be sorry about. But nothing similar happened.

_Your place is right here. You take my hands with yours and warm them up with a sweet breath  
><em>_Bringing me back to life_

The unexpected warm flushed all over his fingers, literally waking the frozen hands up. The feeling itself was so intoxicating that it could've been compared to a bed after crusade. And Nick сould've drowned into this feeling if it was not for the man who was performing it. He'd never think that one day he would be sitting in some half-trashed house, freezing, and someone will help him, someone he would've never met before. Something was twisting around his tongue, some nasty thing to say, but he kept silence because of some reason, only known to him. Nick felt the warmth going further, getting into that empty, obscure place between his ribs, right into the ravel of emotions which people used to call a soul. The sensation had grabbed this soul of his so tight that he couldn't, _wouldn't _say a single word.

_My heart is right here, where there are dreams and wishes hidden under the ice veil  
><em>_All thrown down the drain  
><em>_Your heart is right here, it is beating so fast in spite of your bitter promise  
><em>_Repeat it all over again_

"Nick?"

He flinched. Was he so deep inside himself that he drifted off of the real world? His eyes were closed and God knows how much he didn't want to open them and get back into the nasty autumn night.

"You feeling better?"

No, it had to be done nevertheless. This guy in coveralls still kneeling before him; the blanket slid on the floor behind him, holding his softened hands in his own scratched ones, the voice trembling slightly. He caught Nick's gaze and smiled thankfully, sending shivers down the older man's spine. This small sun had almost blinded him.

"Damn it", was all he muttered.

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><p><em>Feeling so cold here, white frost is drawing me a trial with its icy pattern<br>__I need to keep your fire lit  
><em>_Feeling so cold here is just matter of time now  
><em>_We have found a spell that will help us to run away from it_

"C'mon, move that, people! We've almost made it, just a bit left!"

"It is always just a bit left", the man in a white suit grumbles to himself, but keeps his speed. Coach's low voice was supporting them all the time when they were looking for the train station, finally finding it at the edge of this small town. Rochelle told short stories from time to time, mostly addressed to cheer up two other group members - Nick and Ellis. The latter one had suffered from an accident not so long ago which gave him a limp. The other got used to covering their backs and had to look after the wounded comrade somehow. They answered nothing, though Nick noticed sometimes that El could be smiling even through pain he felt. It happened mostly after nice shooting, but also responding to some sarcastic things - even Nick's twits.

It took them three and a half hours to get to the station. Remembering their unfortunate experience, Rochelle said nothing about their luck, because an angry, hungry and hurt Nick would be a pain in the ass to cope with. At the very end, a prodigious wind started to blow, causing the survivors to wait it out in a bus station. Along with this Nick was noticing that the youngest of them was getting worse; perhaps he wouldn't even escape in the end. The station itself was fairly close but also flooded with infected - maybe, those unfortunate ones who did not manage to escape. There still was a train, one car in it opened and three men sitting there, firing at the zombies. Nodding to himself, Coach lit a pipe bomb and threw it somewhere aside; the infected mass moved on to it and surrounded the bomb, meeting their death. The train survivors watched it, surprised, and then moved their gazes to other four.

"Are you infected?" a man asked sharply, the tallest one, a thin redhead. Coach shook his head; the survivor welcomed them aboard in response. Zombies didn't go anywhere, surely, even though the shooting of another train survivor took a part of them down fast. Rochelle was the first one to run as the lightest and best in health, even more, a lady; the redhead guy swept her off the feet and threw into the car. Coach was next, covering the path with no real problem.

Nick hesitated. Send Ellis forward, when he wouldn't overcome half of it? Run by himself? The second way was a lot more convenient for him... at first glance. And his choice lay upon the most unreliable one.

Ellis felt himself soaring suddenly. He thought that God had finally fulfilled his wish about having wings but then saw the hands with rings on fingers and couldn't believe his eyes.

"Nick, what the..."

The other man hissed at him, taking his burden in a way more convenient to him, and ran. No one had taken away his calluses, his all-way trashed knees, his fatigue, but he kept running at the very edge. The burned was holding his neck with one hand and trying to shoot zombies with a Desert Eagle in other one. At least two times Nick's leg wanted to give up, throwing him on the ground, but the survival will seemed to win. Dodging a not so clever Jockey on his way, the former conman finally reached the train. One more survivor, a thick brunette woman gave him a hand, but he had only passed the mechanic guy to her; then he darted off to the station. Others watched him, terrified, and only Rochelle managed to cry out:

"Where the hell are you going?! We're safe already, get back!"

Nick waved his hand, impatient. Were all of them that out of their minds not to see the closed gate right before the train? Alright, so the sane one was going to save them then. Back when they defended themselves on the station, he saw a room with lots of levers; finding this room was just a matter of time, but the time was running out.

He was lucky; it happened to be close to him. After doing all the necessary things with the levers Nick rushed back, hoping that the train is still waiting for him. However, when he got outside, he froze - the train was moving slowly towards the open gate, and four pair of eyes were looking at him, worried: his comrades and the brunette. Coach and Rochelle were crying something to the other survivors, and the guy in a cap just stared through him. This dead expression on his face made the conman flinch and run forward. Some woman in the train screamed, but he couldn't hear anything behind the shrieks of Infected. He had nothing but a frying pan which he now used to crash the skulls here and there. The train's speed was increasing slowly but Nick was still moving slower with all the zombies coming his way. Gripping the pan till his fingers hurt, he kept running, and the Infected kept interfering.

Suddenly he felt a nasty long thing grabbing his midsection and dragging him through the horde right to the train. Nick turned around for a brief second and saw his savior - a Smoker was sitting on the opened train car and pulled him really fast. The survivors couldn't believe their eyes, and when Nick got dragged right in front of the doors, Ellis grabbed him and pulled inside with all his force; the brunette woman locked the train car at once and shouted a couple of words to someone else.

Only after ending up on the floor and tearing off the tongue from his suit, Nick made a deep sigh. Perhaps without that Smoker he would've really sacrificed himself with no intend to. Had the zombie helped him, unaware of it... or perfectly aware? He would think about it if it wasn't for the hands that held him tight at the waist. Nick wanted to get them away but noticed how incredibly cold they were. Just like his own ones, freezing back in the town.

"Are you cold?" he asked wearily; the grip didn't loosen, it clenched even more.

"Nah, not cold - scared. Really scared." The mechanic looked to the other side, snuggling behind Nick's back. "But it's all good now."

_Keep breathing as long as you can, don't give up!  
><em>_Come follow me down on the edge, I'll catch you!  
><em>_And using your faint breath you keep my hands warm  
><em>_Become my fascination in this dread storm._

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><p><em>Author's Notes:<em>

We made it! Could you believe it? We both did a great job, mine was writing this and translating the whole thing into English (being bilingual rocks), and yours was reading it and facepalming. x)

OK, this was a songfic based on "Холодно" by Кукрыниксы group, and I tried my best to translate the song into English. Hope I didn't fail that much with the grammar and stuff and OOCing characters damnit. There is one more story coming this way and featuring the same guys; it may take six or seven chapters.

Reviews are always welcome. Specially on how disgracefully I made Nick look like not an asshole but a good man at some point. :D


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